Free Catch a Mate by Gena Showalter

cutting through the darkness. Waiters and waitresses pranced back and forth, serving drinks and smiles. A strobe light swirled from the center of the two-story structure, illuminating the throng of writhing, dancing patrons in a multitude of colors. There was more skin displayed here than was usually found between the pages of Playboy. More breasts and thighs than the good Colonel served on any given day.
    Ah, yes. It was Friday night and The Meat Market was open for business.
    Jillian worked her way through the gyrating, sweating crowd. Her camera and mic were in place, pinned at the cleavage of her tank in the form of a bejeweled flower. Everything was being transmitted to and monitored on Anne’s computer. Tomorrow, she’d review the feed with Anne, who would then meet with Darren Sawyer’s girlfriend. Poor thing.
    Jillian wouldn’t be there for the meeting—to avoid outbursts of jealousy, bait was never allowed in the room when the victim was told. But if she chose, she could watch from the screen as Georgia had this morning. Sometimes she did that, too, sometimes she didn’t. She didn’t think she would this time. This girlfriend was a crier; she knew it, felt it and didn’t think she could stand to see another woman cry.
    As Jillian sauntered toward the bar, her purse bounced at her side. In it, she carried Mace, lip gloss, a little cash and a slightly tampered-with ID. She never wanted a target to locate her home address, therefore all of her identification listed CAM’s. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a table of twentysomething women. All but one laughed and chatted. The one who didn’t looked…sad as she stared into a margarita glass.
    Had she been cheated on? Was this the girls’ night out that was supposed to cheer her up? How many of those had Jillian witnessed over the years?
    â€œHey, gorgeous,” someone said, drawing her attention. “I’m fighting the urge to make you the happiest woman on earth tonight.”
    She ignored him. Lord save her from cheesy come-ons.
    She found herself scanning the masses for Marcus rather than her target. Was he here yet? Had he changed out of his sinful jeans? After all, those jeans had proudly showcased his very large erection the entire time he’d been inside her house. Wrong, that’s what it was. He should wear a tent to keep that thing hidden. No woman should be subjected to that and no man should be that well-endowed and gorgeous. And what the hell had excited him? A discussion about the freaking weather?
    No doubt about it. Marcus was strange.
    Never mind that she’d felt white-hot embers of desire the whole time he’d been there. Never mind that fighting with him had aroused her. Again. I hate that man.
    Wherever he was, whatever he was wearing, he was damn well going to watch her win their bet. She would rub it in his face for the rest of his life. Not that she planned to know him that long. She wanted him fired ASAP. He was too dangerous to her peace of mind. Too dangerous, period.
    When she reached the bar, a man in his mid-to-late fifties offered her an eager grin. Or was that a scowl? Hard to tell with Botox. He held out a chair for her as he looked her up and down, lingering on her breasts, between her legs. He had thick silver hair, a plastic face and a suit-clad body that shouted wealth. He even smelled expensive. And he was wearing a wedding ring.
    â€œMy name’s Ted but you can call me anything you want, as long as you call me,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind my saying so, but your body is exquisite.”
    â€œThanks, grandpa,” she muttered, taking the seat. She was in a bad mood. Which could totally be blamed on Marcus. All men were on her shit list just then. Aren’t they always?
    â€œGrandpa?” His frozen expression didn’t change, though his eyes glinted with affront. Jillian often had that effect on people. Without another word,